Somehow, they always said I looked like her. I did, but my twin didn't. I wondered how this could work, how I could look like this second aunt or a cousin twice-removed or just someone somehow related by a sliver of blood, but the one that was almost the splitting image of me didn't. They weren't even sure what is was, how this forty year-old woman had a resemblance of my nineteen year-old self but she didn't, but they stood firm in their belief.
I wanted to meet her, to see if really, she did look like me. I thought that maybe one day, perhaps in the future, we'd meet. Maybe we'd both go visit my grandmother at the same time. But I knew, that since I lived overseas to her, only a special occurrence would draw us together. At my grandfather's funeral she wasn't there, he was her uncle I believe, but she wasn't there. She lived in a different town to them.
I still thought though, that at some point it would happen, we would meet and I would get the chance to see if I could see myself in here.
When the accident happened, I thought she would die. My mum said she wrapped her car around a pole. She never said it straight to me, I heard it here and there, in whispers to people. She wasn't hiding it, she just didn't find a need to tell me. Things are like that in my family.
When I heard her condition I wondered what her face was like, if it still looked my mine. I wasn't sure, they didn't talk much about that part of her. There was a hope at one stage, some time after the accident, when she opened her eyes. She was taken here and there, through different wards, different stages of trying to make her alright. At one point, I thought she would live. I wasn't sure where she had gotten to but it seemed hopeful, a glimmer of hope that there was some strength left in her. It didn't last long.
I wondered, if I saw her then, if I would be able to see myself. If others would be able to see me in her. I was never told if it was her face that shared the resemblance with me, or something else.
I'm not sure I ever will know now. I haven't been told, but I know she's died. There was a hurried phone call where there was only time for the news before the line would cut out.
I wonder what she looks like now, if her face is yet sunken. I wonder if her eyes are cold. I hope not, but I know I'll never see them. I wouldn't want to look into some like me, and see cold eyes.
I don't mind that I'll never see her, not really. Perhaps it's better, it's easier not to see yourself in someone. But I'll always wonder, if somehow, we could've meet and looked at each, and both found ourselves. In the end though, I'll never know if she needed finding. Nor will I know what her eyes felt like, and maybe, that's for the best.